


Orlais Je T'aime

by mouselini



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, PWP, Size Kink, disgusting fluff, like really, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouselini/pseuds/mouselini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking locks at Halamshiral. Shameless lovey dovey smutty one-shot because I'm self-serving and boring af</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orlais Je T'aime

**Author's Note:**

> There's a first time for everything. For me it's writing smut.

Cullen bit his lip.

He knew Lavellan had to be _somewhat_ nimble if she continued to survive by waggling daggers at the necks of her enemies all day. He never did see it before, though, not with her blundering heavy-footed steps and monumental lack of judgment when it came to climbing stairs, and it was hard to believe that the rest of the Inquisition didn't notice how often she lost her balance when she ran.

He once looked up at her tower at the exact moment that she tripped through a space in the railing of her balcony. Maker's breath, it nearly gave him a heart attack, watching her dangle over the mountaintops like that. He occasionally went to bed swearing that he would've torn down the whole castle to help her if she hadn't instantly hauled herself back to safety, and he spent countless hours of his days adopting a subconscious and vicarious fear of heights that only manifested when he'd spot her standing too close to an elevated window. Sure, she did have a spectacular gift of sneaking up on him -- she could be as subtle as the first snowflake of winter when she wanted to be -- but there were moments, usually after a knee was scraped or a glass was dropped, in which he wondered if she was even an elf at all. 

So when he asked her to dance on the marbeled back patio of Halamshiral, he didn't expect her grace to outshine the moon as brilliantly as it did. 

"You're not that terrible at this, Commander," her grin sparkled through the space between them. He cracked a sincere laugh in response to the blush that threatened to crawl up his cheeks. She was too kind; he was a wreck and her crushed feet knew it, especially after the last subpar heel turn that forced her eyes to flutter to the floor in pain. It took Cullen six "I'm so sorry"s before he believed that she believed that he was so sorry, despite her giggling, despite the shakes of her head and her heartfelt answers of "it's okay, Cullen, honest".

To which he sighed "I doubt that but I appreciate the sentiment," and tightened his fingers around her tiny knuckles, drawing circles with his thumb on the back of her palm while he struggled to remember the order of steps he learned in that etiquette class he had twenty years ago. He stumbled. His boots were too big and his elf was too swift, the minstrel in the ballroom was changing tempo too quickly and all he could think about was how lovely she was, the fine slope of her waist, the delicate sway of her hips beneath his hand-- and the way she _moved_ \--

Cullen tilted his head down to gaze at the starlight illuminating Lavellan's hair, his eyes misting in adoration while she twirled beneath him with stunning grace. Her hands felt cold in his-- such a contrast, he mused, to the light of her summer smile and the pretty little way that she laughed.

Maker, those women flirting around him all night didn't have an Andraste-given clue what they were up against. Cullen's lip quirked, because if only they knew. Everything about her was delightfully warm, sweet, the way she hiccuped when she tripped over a microscopic splinter in the floorboard, the pink flush that would bite at her cheeks when Elvish accidentally took reign of her sentences, the innocent flame in her eyes when she'd pin him panting against the dips of his mattress, fully clothed and writhing until some horrible interruption would steal her away for weeks.

That drove him mad. _She_ drove him mad, straddling his hips like that, gasping into his mouth when he'd gather the courage to drop his hands lower, lower, until her timid movements stuttered against the hardness trapped beneath his pants. Twice he'd had her where he needed her most, twice his wandering hands had been interrupted by some fucking ill-timed report, some scout whose presence sent her flying down the ladder of his loft in less than a heartbeat's notice.

And there she was, Maker's breath, blood-stained and twirling like something from a dream, looking up at him like he was the sun while the whole world crumbled around him. Watching her was breaking the steadiness of his knees and his head was dizzied by the overwhelming force of how much he wanted her with him at all times, how much he wanted to feel her skin on his skin, how much he wanted to kiss her, to fuck her, hold her, keep her, tell her he loved her nose in the cold and the way she made him feel like he was home.

The thought dropped his gaze to the floor, but his reverie was quickly smothered by a pollinated breeze that sent them both sniffling and cursing Orlais for their raucous obsession with flowers, and Cullen stifled a choke because even the way she sneezed was so stupidly _pretty_. He bit his lip again and drew her closer until the scent of dawn lillies seceded to the night, marveled at how someone so fierce and cunning and clumsy could be so painfully small, and slowly, very slowly, turned their dance into an embrace.

"That wasn't so hard, was it," her voice was a purr against his coat. The press of her forehead against him made his heart drop like a stone, sharpening his senses to points until his fingers jumped to chase the stars in her hair. It was getting longer, he thought, it was so much longer than the day he'd first laid eyes on her and for some reason that made him slightly sad. Kneading into the folds of the oversized formal jacket that hung loosely from her shoulders, he breathed her in with a quiver and thought that she smelled like rain. She was so small her head barely reached the center of his chest, and he found it unbearably cute, that, and how cold the tips of her ears got in the trails of a strong wind--she always liked it when he'd warm them between his fingers.

"Cullen?"

His name sounded pretty when she said it, L's softly rolling together like the kind tides of a marsh stream. Nobody said it like that. Nobody could. He shook his head and lifted her chin with a single finger, letting his eyes drop as he ducked down to catch the wake of his name on her tongue. He intended the kiss to be sweet, some kind of confirmation that she was real, that she was his alone to hold, but the softness of her lips woke a hunger in him that he hadn't felt since her tiny body was last torn from him and before he knew it he was walking her into the railing with his hands curled tight around her coat.

She responded with a gasp and sent her fingers flying across the stubble on his jaw, allowed him to back her up until she was caught guardless between marble and ardor, darting her tongue into his mouth with such warm fluency that he swore he forgot how to breathe. He let a shaking whine escape him before he sank his tongue further against hers and leaned into her until he could feel every corner of her body, every curve and bone and breath in the fold of his arms.

She was pliable in his hands, melting into him with each aching movement, and when her kisses became urgent and her breathing broken, he cupped her face in both his hands and thrust his tongue into her mouth in earnest. She met him in harrowingly slow sweeps, licking so carefully it spread lightning through his body, and when a small moan trickled through her lips and stiffened him he had to pause to catch his breath around her tongue.

Cullen briefly pulled away to angle his head to the other side before claiming her mouth again. His hands fell to her shoulders and he sketched the outline of her collarbone with his thumbs, convinced that the way she shook under his touch was the only thing keeping his heart from stopping completely, until she pulled him flush against her and brought it hammering back with a ferocity that poured through every crack in his wall.

She dragged her mouth away from his to nuzzle sweetly into his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his brow against the top of her head, idly kissing at the fingers she brushed across his lips while he tried to catch his breath. His hands pulsed in fists at her waist and within seconds he was pulled back down to her, breathless moans dissolving in his throat as she caught his lip between her teeth, her tiny hands sliding from his hair to dig beneath the lapel of his coat. Delirious in his want, shaking and gasping while her desperate shudders rang in his ear and her fingers played hellish games at his belt, he was sure he'd never been so hard in his life and the way she writhed against him only made him harder.

Her skin was soft beneath him as he mouthed at her neck, crushed velvet, he could feel the contrasting jut of her collarbone against his bottom teeth and bit down on it with a building force that drew whimpers from her pretty mouth. His hands were all over her then, gliding across the small of her back, her waist, her ass, her shoulders, flying back up to her face to hold her head up as he decorated her neck with the tip of his tongue, thumbs running cautiously along the sensitive points of her ears, breaths coming in jagged pleas with every reddening mark he left. He was vaguely aware of how hard he was pressing into her, how good her hips felt against his aching dick, how Halamshiral was buzzing with chatter and song and how unbelievably far away they were from his bed in Skyhold.

With a start Cullen tore himself away from her, locking his hands at her ribs as he glanced over his shoulder and panted, "We -- I-I want you so badly -- I c-can't --" The noise in the ballroom started to grow and Cullen wasn't sure if the people were getting louder of if he just hadn't noticed the volume. He looked back down at her and his breath hitched when her eyes lit up like fire and a lust-brindled smile spilled across her lips.

"Come on," she whispered, catching his fingers in hers. She pushed herself off of the balcony railing and cast a quick glance at the doorway. "Come," she repeated, forceful, tugging gently at him, leading him down the patio stairs with the stars splashing all around her like rain.

Cullen followed with a grip so tight he was vacantly worried that he bruised her knuckles. The garden was a blur of statues and flowers that drowned out the music behind them, and in his ears he heard his heart, loud as a forward march, echo through the rashvine in the heaps of silence between their steps.

"Where--?" He asked, still breathless, lightheaded, fighting to see through the lust that clouded his vision, but his answer came at the foot of a door whose lock Lavellan had already started to pick. Her hands moved deftly at the bolt while his hands balled in frozen fists at his sides and he licked his lip at the sight of her ear pointing out from the tousles of her hair. The noise she'd made on the day he'd kissed her and discovered just how sensitive the tips of an elf's ears were -- her surprised moan, soft and all-encompassing and dirty -- it was a sound that dazed him frequently and he yearned to hear it every night. His fingers flexed, about to breach the air between them, about to whisk her close enough to flick his tongue along the silken point when the lock finally gave way and revealed a compact and obscenely decorated boudoir, slightly bigger than a storeroom but undoubtedly used as such despite the decorative furniture that dotted its corners.

There was a pause after the door clicked shut behind them, a certain stillness broken only by the lambent heaving of Lavellan's chest as Cullen bore his lovesick gaze into her-- 

And then he pounced, teeth latching at her bottom lip, fingertips digging wildly into the curve of her shoulders, down her arms, grabbing everywhere they could to anchor himself because her tongue was invading his mouth with a fervor that drove him mad, absolutely crazy, and suddenly her back hit the stone behind her with a slam that made his cock twitch. He growled into her mouth as he swept his hands over her ass and lifted her up against the wall, heeling into the gap that formed between her thighs when they wrapped around his waist.

Within seconds he was writhing, driving his hips into the warmth beating through the fabric between them, gasping, fucking into her mouth with his tongue while the fingers she threaded through his hair whipped his head to the side.

"Unh -- Creators, _Cullen_ \--" Lavellan's voice hitched as she threw her head back to allow him access to her throat. He obliged with a greedy growl, biting down hard on the space below her jaw to feel the quiver of her moans just before they leaked. She was trembling fiercely, falling forward into his arms--his teeth--until he tightened his grip on her backside and backed them into the nearest piece of furniture.

With a breathless groan he dropped down onto the velveteen sofa and dragged her legs up into a straddle, pressing her tightly to him as he sucked streams of fever down her neck. The way she moved--teasing--slow and cautious against the heated swell in his pants with her hands clasped longingly at either side of his face had him convinced that she was out to kill him, and he quickly grappled at her hips to urge her forward until she was grinding hard on him with his name stumbling off the peak of her parted lips.

Cullen's fingers worked shakily to undo the clasps on her formal coat, her belt, her pants, lust roughening his grip on her as each garment collapsed in a pile by his feet, and when his gaze met the softness of her skin for the first time he growled kisses across her chest. " _Maker's breath_ \-- l-look at you--" his breaths were coming in ragged gasps, quiet moans that punctuated every roll of her hips as she rutted against the fabric stretched tight over his lap.

Cullen was ravenous. Lavellan followed him as he sank back into the plush cushion, her hands running paths along his still-clothed chest while she assaulted his mouth with a hunger that measured his own. Her nipples were hard beneath his gentle toying fingers and every slight pinch ripped a shattering gasp from her that made Cullen want to tear her apart, and as his vision began to swim he felt her fingers free him from the confines of his pants. 

Cullen choked at the contact, painfully balling his fists at her back in a dizzied attempt to sit still while she carefully, so carefully slid her sex against him until he could feel the wetness of her opening as it paused at the tip of his cock. When she began lowering her hips enough for him to push through, he curled his fingers into the bow of her waist and bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.

"Oh, _fuckkkk--_ "

Cullen's jaw dropped and his eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body feeling like a storm. She was too tight to take him any deeper and he shook in restraint as she delved her tongue hotly into his mouth. She tried to press herself down harder but he stilled her movements with a vice grip on her hips and broke the kiss to flip her onto her back, quickly pulling himself out of her with a dirty groan and a shake of his head. In a daze he slid against her slick heat, coating himself with her wetness as he lifted her thigh and angled his hips into the soft curve of her clit, groaning when she cried out--

Cullen tilted her jaw to catch her moans between his teeth before he pressed back inside of her, swearing at the resistance that met him. She was panting beneath him, shaking and clawing at his damp hair with her eyes screwed shut in some evident hybrid of pain and want, and he scattered kisses across her forehead as he pulled out again, worry settling in a haze between his gasps. He dropped his fingers down between them and thrust one through her tight opening, worked her until the river of his name rolled weakly from her tongue, until he could fit half of another, until she gasped and shuddered as she came around his knuckle.

Trembling, he fisted his cock, slicking it with his wet fingers while he licked hungrily at the dip of her mouth. He aligned himself and pushed into her again, easier this time, grinding his teeth, halfway deep and choking hard on his breaths. Cullen lifted her thigh higher and fucked into her with a desperation he'd never before felt, every part of his body shivering as he drove deeper and harder, fingers marring into her smooth skin, tearing through the fabric of the couch as he panted "F-fuck -- y-you're too -- I-I'm gonna --" and stilled.

The walls around him began to darken and with a sharp spasm he came, chest torn with strangled growls as he filled her deep and thick. Every muscle in his body ached and with tired effort he allowed himself to collapse over her, reeling in the warmth of the smile tugging at his own mouth as he felt her Elvish whispers slide soothingly across his collar. He didn't know what she said but it sounded like the way he thought the sky looked at dawn, and he slowly nuzzled into her hair as he wrapped his fingers around her arm, warm and glowing, not wanting to pull out of her but knowing he'd have to soon.

Cullen pressed his forehead against her cheek, nudged at her jaw, brushed his lips across the crook of her neck, her ear, her nose, stifled the affection that rippled in his throat when she sat up and accidentally knocked her head into his with a violent crash. It took Lavellan countless "oh, Mythal, _Cullen I'm so sorry_ "s before he was able to convince her that she never had to be sorry for anything and that "it didn't really hurt at all, honest".

To which she responded, "I doubt that, but thank you," and fastened the clasps on her oversized jacket. Cullen gazed down at her while she redressed and smirked when her eyes, lidded and laughing and bright, met his. "Do you think anyone missed us?"

Cullen held the door open for her and followed her out into the slight chill of the garden, casting a last glance at the telltale tears he left in the boudoir sofa and swallowing to keep his heart from fluttering any harder. "Missed us? Probably not," he responded, raising his voice slightly to arch over the echo of the door as it shut behind them, "but I'd be willing to bet that at least four new rumors have already spread across Orlais."

Cullen watched the sway of her hips as ahe ascended the stairs and automatically outstretched his arm to shield her from her impending death when she lost her footing at the top step. Earlier he'd spent hours nervously raking his hands through his hair, helpless, bound to the confines of his post while the clash of her daggers echoed chillingly through the courtyard. Having her alive now and stumbling in a hurry over her own shaky feet, he chuckled at how far away the whole night seemed and slung his arm around her shoulders, subtly chaperoning her away from the ledge of the balcony before they gave Orlais even more to talk about.


End file.
